


A Walk Within My Dreams

by Sairyn



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:30:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5404823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sairyn/pseuds/Sairyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you believe? Do you believe in mysteries that hide within the dark?  What if you found out it wasn't a mystery- but instead truth. What then?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Walk Within My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [23emotions](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/23emotions) collection. 



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> Degrassé  
> adj. entranced and unsettled by the vastness of the universe, experienced in a jolt of recognition that the night sky is not just a wallpaper but a deeply foreign ocean whose currents are steadily carrying off all other castaways, who share our predicament but are already well out of earshot—worlds and stars who would’ve been lost entirely except for the scrap of light they were able to fling out into the dark, a message in a bottle that’s only just now washing up in the Earth’s atmosphere, an invitation to a party that already ended a million years ago.

My muse while I wrote~  [Boulevard of Broken Dreams- PMJ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=riZck9O-kBU)

 

Many have said I have an affinity for night. That is an understatement. What I do have is a connection-hence my nickname Spooky. As a child, my eyes were wide open, able to see what was there and what used to be. It was second nature to hear the words no one else did, see the people others believed not to be there and float in and out of time and space across the very universe. This is what people call a child’s imagination. It is smiled at, looked upon fondly and even encouraged. Up to a certain point.

At some mythical moment it is deemed foolish, immature and if not corrected, delusional and deranged. So for self-preservation we forget. But what if you don’t? What if instead you find you can hide your belief in the knowledge that others choose to forget. That you continue to listen to the whispers that come find you while you sleep. Entertain those phantoms of the night who float along your subconscious and remind you that you are “different’, “special”; that you have a purpose. You may chalk it up to late night musings, but something inside of you tells you that there is more to the story. That was confirmed for me the night Samantha was taken.

Since then I have lived with intent. Waiting, no daring for the night and anything in it to find me. Days, months, years, I have searched fruitlessly. There are moments, like tonight, that I doubt. To scared to say the words out loud, I silently wonder if I am as emotionally unstable as everyone thinks I am. I glance again at the letter that arrived today from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It was an invitation to Quantico. Apparently someone up there thought my work played a major role in capturing Luther Boggs; a suspected serial killer. I'm too tired to think about this tonight, instead opting for an early night. Of course, as I lay my head down wondering what to do next, unnatural sleep comes to claim me and with it the answers I have been seeking.

Within a dream I wake. My mind’s eye opens and I see the world as it once was. I look around to gather my bearings. I know this road; I walk it many times when I need to get away, in an attempt to get lost in anonymity. At school I am the castaway; prone to wandering through the halls while talking about "nonsense", "aliens", and "creatures with magical powers".  But tonight, I am surrounded by the sights and sounds of a night unlike any I can remember. Illuminating my journey are ghostly lights that seem to hover, giving off an eerie glow while muffled voices speaking in gibberish float on the wind, as if traveling along invisible telephone lines.

I know to most I look as though I belong, blending easily with the many humans walking along the town. But when I look closely at myself, I can tell I am not quite the same. I am wandering without fear to some place I know but can't name. I am sure of my steps, comfortable in the darkness, knowing instinctively evil will not dare cross my path. Tonight, I walk enveloped within the shadows, seen but not seen. I am out of step with time. Iridescent as a wish, I  pass through the edges of those around me, filtering through their collective consciousness’s following a calling that has haunted me since that fateful night. Its melancholy lullaby sings to me and my soul answers back- Kindred.

Asphalt turns to cobblestone beneath my feet which then turns to meadows and fields. Part of me wants to stop now; to wake from this journey fearing this is the madness so many have warned me about. The endless silent urging from friends and family to deny that this place, this existence, is real. But my skin embraces the wind against my face, enjoys the soothing touch of those seen and not seen and relishes in the voices that act as a balm for my restless soul. This is familiar; it speaks to that place that has been calling out for something that always seemed to be just out of reach.

I know I am safe here. This place I have wandered into has many names; Olympus, Avalon, Valhalla, Heaven, Atlantis, in fact too many to count. Same could be said of its inhabitants. They are both light and dark, existing at the beginning and again at the end of time. Forced recognition of this knowledge is blinding, all consuming even. It requires use of those areas of the brain that have long been ignored. My mind should be saying stop; that this is all too much and that it couldn’t be possible. But I recognize the truth in the words; the strange melody is in perfect harmony with the rhythm of my soul. So I listen, I absorb, I remember a time before time, as told by the shadows of night. I am reminded of who and _what_ I am and rejoin a part of me that had been hidden since my rebirth.

I have something to do, I am told. I have a message to deliver to the world- The Truth Is Out Here.

_Weave the story, tell our tale. Remind the world that what was, will one day be again._

_Most won’t believe you, they will label you deranged, talking about magical worlds and people who had abilities far beyond the stretch of their limited imaginations._

_Call it fiction if you must. Use the words that spin the legends and speak to the mind that slumbers deep._

_It is our call, our key. Just as it found you, it will find the others; our children, our descendants. Those we had to leave behind to start anew._

_Look to the heavens and see our smiles in the rainbows that stretch across the sky, share with us our tears within the rain that falls, and feel our love that’s bright as stars at night_.

_Do not lose faith._

_**_You and those like you are our legacy._ ** _

And as the sun starts its slow climb above the water, I feel my conscious mind prickling awake. I open my eyes once again to the world I live in, the "invitation" from the FBI clutched in my hand.

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_ **


End file.
